


It's A Living

by Wembley



Series: That Series Where I Made Weyoun A Hooker And It Started Out Lulzy But Then It Got All Dark And Shit [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Hermaphrodites, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prior Noncon, Prostitution, Sexual Abuse, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wembley/pseuds/Wembley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a hooker for the Dominion sucks. Fortunately, so does Garak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Living

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Contains: Doin' it. Tone shift. Reference (non-explicit) to past sexual trauma. Possibly triggery.
> 
> Notes: The [first part](http://archiveofourown.org/works/204343) ([LJ](http://wemblee.livejournal.com/636685.html)) was lulzy crackfic. This part's more srs bzns.
> 
> Spoilers: Takes place around S5, some S6 spoilers, possibly mentions things from 7x06.

The next few moments were a bit of a blur. They were in Garak's quarters. Garak collapsed back into a chair. He found himself with Weyoun astride his lap, hands fisted in his jacket, kissing the living hell out of him.

"This is proving to be," Garak said, breath coming out in pants, "most diverting." He shifted his weight, making to rise from the chair. "Shall we remove ourselves to...?" He nodded toward the bed.

He let out a sharp exhale, eyes wide, as Weyoun pushed him back down into the chair, forceful, hands on his shoulders. "At the moment," Weyoun said, and Garak felt the smile against his neck, could just imagine how cold it looked, "I like you right here." Garak swallowed a lump in his throat, instantly hard.

He felt lips at his neck, soft, gentle, contrasted with the fingers digging into his shoulders. Felt a kiss pressed to every ridge. "Your quarters are rather warm."

Well. That was the worst excuse for a sweet nothing he'd ever heard. "We Cardassians prefer-- prefer--" Hot mouth. On his neck. It had been so, so long. "--the heat." His eyelids fluttered. He struggled to speak. "Are you uncomfortable?"

He couldn't see Weyoun's face, but his tone of voice was dry. "Is that a hint that I should remove my clothes?" He shrugged out of his brown whatever-it-was. Garak decided that helping him out of his shirt would only prove beneficial.

Weyoun had little in the way of muscle definition, was even a touch soft around the middle, but Garak couldn't find it within himself to complain. It wouldn't do to sit there gaping at his body, though. Most impolite. "I have to hand it to the Dominion -- your fashion sense surpasses the Federation's handily."

"All those jumpsuits," Weyoun said, back on Garak's neck but pausing to shudder theatrically. "Hideous."

"My thoughts exactly," Garak said, as Weyoun removed Garak's jacket, vest, shirt with truly record speed. "I'd heard your people didn't understand art or aesthetics. Lies, I suppose."

"Oh," Weyoun laughed, "no, it's true, we don't, but even the Vorta know those outfits are terrible."

"An encouraging sign." In moments, they were on the bed, clothes on the floor.

Weyoun traced a finger up Garak's stomach. His smile looked... not shy, exactly, but something approaching that, and, for a courtesan, surprisingly sincere. "I like your scales."

"I'm rather fond of them, myself."

He felt a kiss against his hip. Couldn't stop the shudder. "That's one of the..." Weyoun seemed to be searching for the word. "...perks of this job. Exploring the bodies of so many different species. So many different textures, sounds, sensations."

He really could get used to that voice. Still. Best not get too attached. This was merely a pleasant diversion. "How long have you been pressed into service?"

Weyoun just smiled, saying nothing. Garak decided to take the opportunity to get a better look at him. With a light push at the shoulders, he sent Weyoun back against the mattress.

Weyoun seemed to take that as a cue; his expression changed, became less easy to read, his eyes hooded. A smile, an empty one, tugged at the corner of his lips and he slid his legs apart. Glanced up into Garak's eyes, his voice soft. "Would you like to fuck me?"

Garak's stomach clenched, his cock throbbed, his mouth went dry. He tried to tell himself it was just the unexpected profanity -- he did his best to bed people with lovely voices, and when they swore, it _did_ things to him. But the change in Weyoun also disturbed him -- when he'd spoken, he'd sounded so jaded, but with a hint of... worry. Vulnerability. Fear. It troubled him. It aroused him. The voice in his head that told him to accept that without shame sounded hollow.

"Not just yet," he said gently, smoothing a hand down Weyoun's knee. "All in due time." He kissed the inside of his thigh and was surprised to feel Weyoun twitch, hear him laugh, high-pitched.

"Sorry," Weyoun said, a little sheepish, "sorry. It tickled."

The rest of his body was as white as his face, no change in color anywhere at all, even his nipples. Garak was relieved to see he had a cock -- he'd heard rumors that the Vorta had nothing below the waist at all. No testes, though. And, Garak noticed, eyebrows raising, a vagina.

Weyoun saw his surprise. He laughed, gestured sweepingly. "What can I say? I've got it all." He raised his eyebrows. "The first Vorta to have any of it."

"How fortunate for both of us," Garak murmured, dipping his head downwards.

Weyoun laughed again, looking confused, catching Garak lightly by the chin. Kissing him, he let his free hand wander toward Garak's cock.

Garak caught that hand by the wrist. Nipped at Weyoun's ear, then licked up the outer edge. He heard Weyoun suck in a sharp gasp. Switching sides, he drew his tongue across the ridge or lobe or whatever it was that extended all the way down his jaw. This provoked a truly gratifying whimper.

Weyoun pulled back, looking at Garak as if he'd gone insane. Odd. Garak glanced sidelong past Weyoun's navel. His cock, white as the rest of him, looked painfully hard, flush against his stomach. Garak swallowed with difficulty, but managed to keep his smile. "Would you like me to... _do_ something about that?"

Weyoun glanced down as if he'd just noticed he had an erection. As if he'd just noticed he had a penis, really. He laughed genuinely, flipping his wrist. "My pleasure is of no consequence."

Fascinating. And more than a little disturbing. Garak leaned in, closing his hand warmly around the man's shoulder. "On the contrary, my dear fellow. You see," he said, because he had the unsettling feeling that he'd actually have to _explain_ this, "I find the experience of bringing a lover more pleasure than he can stand... quite gratifying. I admit to some dismay that this hasn't been a part of your... education. Thus--" And with that, he closed his mouth over Weyoun's cock.

Weyoun's gasp cut the air. He took in another shaky exhale. "That's... That's..." He gasped again, short and sharp. " _Exquisite._ "

Garak repressed the urge to smile. He licked a delicate, precise line around the head with the very tip of his tongue. He found the moan that stuttered out of Weyoun quite endearing.

Weyoun's cock was of average size, or maybe just a touch smaller than. But quite lovely. He sucked gently, then faster, drawing him in deep.

Weyoun fumbled in vain for language. "I-- that's-- you-- Oh." The next "Ohhh," was soft, almost reverent.

It had been months since he'd taken a man apart like this. The moans continuing to slip out of Weyoun certainly weren't hurting his ego.

"I-- you--" Weyoun's breath gusted in and out. He sounded... overwhelmed. "Why?"

Throughout his life, Garak had prided himself on having an answer for everything. He certainly didn't have an answer for that.

Well. Actually. Maybe he did.

He slid his mouth off Weyoun's cock. It returned, slick and crooked, to the man's stomach. Garak glanced down. This wouldn't have been his first choice, really-- _hadn't_ been his first choice, obviously. But there were larger issues at stake.

He was both dismayed and not at all surprised to find that the Dominion hadn't allowed Weyoun a clitoris.

Still. He wasn't without options. With only a slight instant of hesitation, he bent his head, licking a wide, flat line. The high-pitched gasp that elicited was promising. Closing his hands around Weyoun's hips, he licked farther, deeper, Weyoun truly panting now, breath coming hard and fast, broken bits of words tumbling from his mouth. He sounded shocked.

The moans that poured out of the man weren't soft anymore -- clear and deep. Garak was surprised they didn't rattle the station out of orbit.

"That's-- that's so--" Weyoun sounded like it was a monumental struggle just to form polysyllabic words. "Could-- could you-- what you did before? But--"

With a glee that he was certain bordered on unseemly, he swallowed Weyoun's cock back down, attending to the man's slit with his hand.

He shouldn't have been startled when Weyoun came, but he was, just a bit. He tasted more bitter than the human and Cardassian men Garak had been with, but that wasn't the end of the world, and Garak prided himself on his professionalism. Wiping his mouth, he noticed, with fascination, that it was blue.

Weyoun was sheened with sweat, chest heaving. His stare was shocked and -- this was as disturbing as it was flattering -- openly worshipful. He sat up, grabbed Garak by the neck, and kissed him, hard.

The amount of gratitude in that kiss was -- there was that word again -- disturbing. Garak allowed himself an "Mm," before breaking off. "Have you ever--" Sometimes, only blunt language would do. "Have you ever come?"

Weyoun swallowed audibly. "We're not supposed to."

 _Dear God,_ Julian would have said. "Not supposed to," Garak repeated.

Weyoun's expression was wary; defensive, perhaps. "It isn't our place."

Garak massaged the ridge above one of his eyebrows. "Why would the Change-- the Founders give you _this_ \--" He gestured to Weyoun's copious amount of genitalia. "--if they didn't wish you to _use_ it?"

Weyoun stared at Garak like he was stupid. "It isn't for _me_. It's-- it's for others. To play with. If they wish. And even when they do, I'm not-- I shouldn't-- I don't. I haven't." He looked nervous. "You won't... tell anyone, will you?"

Garak nodded toward him, taking him by the hand, almost courtly. "Your secret is safe with me." The slight sarcasm he'd injected flew completely over Weyoun's head; the man simply looked relieved.

"Now," Weyoun said, looking at the clock, "as much as I'd love -- _love_ \-- to do that for _you_ \--" He glanced down at Garak's cock, whose attention had since flagged. "--if we don't engage in some kind of actual intercourse, I will cease to be in about... two hours."

Garak blinked. "And they say romance is dead."

Weyoun ignored that, still glancing south, eyebrows raising. "Although, in order to get you started..."

In a moment, it was Garak's turn to gasp.

***

Weyoun studied his face as he lay there next to him, tracing the curved indentation in Garak's forehead with his thumb. "This was... different."

Garak glanced at him. "I should certainly hope so."

Weyoun raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. "You pity me."

"Not at all," Garak lied. "But I do wonder if your gods have your best interests at heart, in this particular area, at least."

Weyoun's stare was hard, his voice tight. "To serve the Founders is an honor and a privilege."

Garak wasn't going to let a little misguided religious fanatacism spoil his afterglow. He shrugged as affably as he could, smiling a little. "As you wish."

Weyoun couldn't seem to let it go. "It isn't all bad. Sometimes, it's quite wonderful."

"Not being allowed to ejaculate?"

Weyoun narrowed his eyes. "My _job_."

"Ah."

"Most of the time," Weyoun said, shrugging, "at its worst, it's just dull. Flatter, drink, kiss, unzip. Only once in a while is it..." He trailed off, looking troubled.

Garak kept his voice quiet. "Is it what?" Weyoun shook his head, grinned unconvincingly, waving away the topic. Garak ran a few fingers through his hair. Soft, thick. Even after all they'd done, it stayed unnervingly in place. "I do hope you're no longer in danger of... disintegrating?"

Weyoun's smile grew much more genuine. "Not anymore. Don't ask me to explain the science, it would take hours." He took Garak's hand. Garak couldn't remember the last time a man had done that. "Thank you for saving my life."

Garak raised an eyebrow. "It was my pleasure, and never before have I meant that _quite_ so literally." He let his fingers drift up and down Weyoun's forearm. "Forgive my curiosity, but... how exactly did you end up engaging in this particular type of diplomacy?"

There went the mood. Weyoun looked away, picking at the sheets. Garak said, "I'm sorry, I--"

Weyoun interrupted, shaking his head. "No, no. It's fine." He paused, seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

He stared up at the ceiling, eyes searching. "When I was activated, the Founder came to me. She said that I was different from the others. That I was made for a different purpose." He turned to Garak, grinning, his smile all teeth. "Can you imagine being approached by your god, being told that you were special?" Garak said nothing.

Weyoun looked elsewhere again. "The room was cold. I asked how I could serve her, serve the other Founders, what they wished me to do." He swallowed. "She told me to kneel." He looked away, going silent again for a few long moments.

He returned to picking at the blanket. "She told me that I needed to learn what to do. How best to woo a wide variety of cultures, races, species. How to bring them pleasure. It was... quite an education."

A strand of Garak's hair had come loose at some point. Weyoun smoothed it back as he spoke. "It isn't as if the Vorta know nothing of seduction. Through my training, I came to realize that, as diplomats, everything we do is seduction, really." The last line came out on a soft laugh. "But doing so directly was always considered rather..." He twirled his wrist, pausing to find the words. "Coarse." He traced the ridge above Garak's right eye. "However, the Founders came to feel that adding to our diplomatic arsenal would only enhance our ability to gain allies in the Alpha Quadrant."

"An astute observation."

"I thought so at the time." Weyoun grinned again, warmly, tracing the ridge again, this time with his thumb. "We think so alike, you and I."

Garak closed his hand over Weyoun's, stilling it. "At the time. Not anymore?"

Weyoun stopped smiling. He turned back to face the ceiling, thinking. "No. No, I still do. I think I provide a useful... service. And mating rituals provide tremendous insight into a culture... its values, its vulnerabilities. I learned a great deal."

Garak spoke carefully. "You left off where she told you that you needed to... learn."

Weyoun glanced at him, sidelong, wary. Looked away. "Some of my training was..." He was quiet for a while. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Most unpleasant."

Julian's voice echoed in his head again. _Dear God,_ it repeated. Garak traced a delicate line around Weyoun's temple, not quite touching.

Weyoun's expression grew contented again. "I've been on a great deal of assignments. The Founder says she's proud of me. That my development has been encouraging, a success." He beamed at that, but there was something else there as well. An edge to it, a hint of irony. "And, as I said, sometimes it's wonderful, usually, it's just dull, and only rarely is it..." He grew sober again, looking Garak in the eyes. Garak had a feeling he knew which word Weyoun was about to choose. "...unpleasant."

At the expression on Weyoun's face, Garak felt... something. A dull throb in the pit of his stomach. He placed a gentle hand on Weyoun's face. Weyoun seemed startled by the contact. "My dear fellow," Garak said softly, and kissed him.

Breaking away, he smoothed his thumb across Weyoun's forehead. "Do you want to leave?" he asked quietly.

Weyoun looked as if Garak had spit on a statue of a changeling or something similar. "No! Of course not. Don't be silly." He looked away, and then, barely seconds after he'd just spoken, looked back at Garak, voice a harsh whisper. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"You're in luck. If there's one thing I know, it's how to effectively disappear. I'd be more than happy to assist you."

"I'd especially like to find the person that made my training less than ideal and make his life..."

"Unpleasant?" Garak supplied dryly.

Weyoun's smile contained not one degree of warmth. Garak mirrored it. "And then, I'll kill him," Weyoun said, still smiling.

"Another task with which I can ably assist," Garak said, nearly chipper.

Weyoun's grin warmed. "I like you."

"Do you trust me?"

The grin got wider. "Not at all."

Garak smiled. "Then you'll do just fine."

Weyoun corrected his previous sentence. "A little." Since he said it directly into Garak's neck, Garak couldn't really find it within himself to object.

END


End file.
